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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349628">Black Spring</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Clothed Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, First Kiss, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Power Imbalance, Rough Kissing, Shameless Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:40:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A hard winter had turned into a delayed spring. With it came expectations and the Commander of the Blue Stripes never disappointed on that front. Only when offered a gift, his request was unexpected. Of all the riches, titles, and property he could ask for, Vernon Roche requested only one thing from his King.</p>
<p>A kiss.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Foltest/Vernon Roche</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Black Spring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day had started well for what had been a rough season. Spring had been delayed by an onslaught of snow, plunging his kingdom into another month of famine, economic standstills, and blocked roads. All which he could do nothing about. Why the peasants assumed he was a type of god that could wave a hand and push away snow was beyond him. Their complaints and bawling outside his gates grew damn tiresome when he was nursing his own headaches, but Temeria always managed to soldier on and survive year after year. It repeatedly did in some capacity even when it felt like the entire nation was going to collapse and burn. And the spring would bring with it a calm to his countrymen. The whimpers would stop and turn into singing and his headaches would disappear with the fresh wind.</p>
<p>The snow had finally melted enough that morning for the gates to open, but it had left everything damp and muddy and tinged with brown and decay. He sent out his scouts in response, recognizing the need that had been long delayed. The larder had been exhausted and the coffers were shut tight meaning hunting had to be prioritized during the delicate lull. Not that the cooks could buy anything in the market even if he had given them a purse. Most of the stalls only held scraps and poor looking butchering, something he witnessed himself one evening when he snuck out to judge the mood in Vizima.</p>
<p>The people were holding but only because spring brought renewal and fresh buds to tide their woes. Garlic and spruce tips for beginning meals. It wasn’t a lot but it was enough to bring hope to Vizima and beyond. Unfortunately that didn’t extend to his kitchens and he was not going to take from his already ragged population. He wasn’t stupid enough to give them a reason to revolt.</p>
<p>The unit he had decided on to fill his storage consisted of a small regiment that was supposed to hold smart, well-learned men. Trackers and reconnaissance. A unit used to hunting for itself when he sent them to parts of the Kingdom for bandit extermination and experience in how to track animals and man. They left at dawn with quivers full and swords sharpened, carrying his confidence for something better than grainy porridge with toughened duck skin. But his mood dissipated when they came back before the sun had properly risen. Instead of bringing a wealth of provisions, they returned with only reports of abandoned rabbit warrens, the occasional sight of a pheasant and nothing more but excuses. He nearly had them flogged - would have done so truly - if he hadn’t been a cup into his wine.</p>
<p>So he made the choice he should have gone with in the first place. His war-hound; The bastard of Vizima, whoreson of Temeria. He sent out Vernon Roche with his band of elf-killers to replenish the castle. And he commanded he return by dusk with something more than a starved pheasant. Not impossible but certainly strained for time. Except he was pissed and growing hungry for the taste of hearty meat or fish and soured by his other unit’s failure. Besides, Vernon Roche never let him down and refused to compromise on his task. What little faith he had left he could give to him.</p>
<p>They returned with more game than necessary before the sun had set and the final bells had rung in the temple quarter. Stags hung from shoulders undressed, along with headless boars, chains of fish, a battalion’s worth of ducks, sparrows, and forest grouse along with a basket. The top burst with new spruce bud tips, dandelion heads and stalks, and handfuls of nettles. A ten day’s feast. At the front of it all, his Commander stood, hands soaked in blood and soil but with only a simple hare tied to his belt. There was clearly a story behind all of this bravado, but he didn’t have the heart to start asking for in-depth explanations when he saw how each of his special forces beamed in pride at their catches. It was enough meat to restock the palace, that’s all that mattered, and he moved to stand before them, giving nods of approval as they eagerly showed off their catch.</p>
<p>He saved his actual words for Roche. He knew despite the look, his Commander had probably done more than fetch a single hare. </p>
<p>“Roche,” he said, making sure their eyes were level when he stood next to him, noting he smelled a bit like tobacco underneath the grime. He could see the rough bastard grow solid in response to being addressed, his chest not even daring to move. Waiting in anticipation for his words. “Join me later in my chambers. I would like to offer a gift to you for your efforts.”</p>
<p>His head dipped in a curt nod, a slight flush echoing on his ears, before he turned to glare at his soldiers - colourful bastards of men and his single wiry woman. All who would get a pocketful of coin which he knew would be wasted in the taverns that night. Typical Vizimian economy at work. “Take those to the kitchens,” he ordered. “And the gods help you if you spill any blood on the tiles. I’ll ploughing make you clean it up with your tongues.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Commander,” they said in unison, some more enthusiastic than others, and Foltest let them disembark, his own strides taking him back to his throne, a hidden smile playing on his lips from relief of his special forces valiant service. Whatever scraps the kitchen had from the abundance he thought to offer to the people rather than his well-fed hounds. Something small to gain favor for the long winter without any riots or assassination plots. And to curry their favor; Not only for himself in terms of displayed generosity, but also for the Special Forces. It was a good reminder to whatever enemies lurked in his capitol that twenty men could do the work of an entire army when set to task. And to the peasants that this was a unit to be respected as well as feared. Their kindness and his was a reward, not an expectation.</p>
<p>It lingered in his thoughts throughout the evening until he was finally allowed to slip away and the court closed for the night. Back to his chambers where fresh boughs of juniper and incense had been lit in the mantle and candied birds tongue and flower heads had been filled in his bedside bowls. Delicate work from the abundance by his cooks and maids, each displaying care and skill to the animals they had been served. As soon as his eyes adjusted in the darkened light, he noticed the shadow by his mantle.</p>
<p>He was hardly shocked at the staute of the man standing next to his fireplace, watching it with sharp eyes. He latched the door tight in response so that he wouldn’t be bothered by any nearby guards or inquisitive pages and rolled his aching shoulders in relief.</p>
<p>“Come in through the window?” he asked candidly to his brooding Commander. Roche looked up, his gaze practically oppressive, before he lightly shook his head, the ends of his chaperon swinging softly over his shoulder.</p>
<p>“I came through the door,” he said, his voice quiet yet still holding respect. “Your guards are damn fools though, Your Majesty.”</p>
<p>“Are they now? Do tell.”</p>
<p>Roche only sighed, his gaze following him around as he moved to fetch two well-worn mugs from his cabinets. Wooden; Perhaps pine or spruce of origin. Gifts carved from Mahakam and given to him by Brouver Hoog, though he had them thoroughly scrubbed and soaked when he arrived back in Vizima. Mahakam still was sore from Roche’s intervention and brutal suppression and the mugs seemed too nice of a gift. But he liked using them when his Commander occupied his chambers. A reminder to him that he did well on that occasion.</p>
<p>Unfortunately he was running low on his good Kaedweni stout - the sole decent thing from the northern shithole - and only had less than a mouthful of Est Est. Everything else they had drank over the winter and unless he wanted to open a seventeen year bottle of questionable pepper wine, it was dark beer they were to share for the night.</p>
<p>“They don’t ask enough questions. They blindly accepted whatever I said,” Roche continued, a certain edge to his voice as he complained. He recognized the tone well. It usually came out when his Commander was trying to repress an outburst. That made him raise a brow as he strode back to his fire, nodding at him to fetch the chairs and table while he stood holding the mug handles between two fingers. </p>
<p>“I’m sure that’s because they recognize you. If they didn’t-”</p>
<p>“Dopplers can imitate,” he immediately cut in, arranging the furniture in a messy fashion. Typical of a lowborn. He had no eye for setting things up. “I could be an assassin and they would assume because they know my face, I am who I say.”</p>
<p>He wasn’t wrong, but he was hardly in the mood for this type of discussion. He already had to listen to complaints about the army from one of the barons because they didn’t bow low enough when he passed by. He was sick of talking about military politeness and expectation. “What would you have me do, Roche? Beat them? Send them to the dungeons so you can makes a few incisions? Stick metal into their guts and twist until there’s a rotting hole and they die on soiled stones?” He saw Roche give a sulking glare to the fire. “Vernon, calm down. My guards are well trained and proficient. If it irritates you so much, lecture them yourself next time.”</p>
<p>“They don’t respect me and they’d never listen,” he muttered. “And this is troublesome. Your safety-”</p>
<p>He settled into his chair, dropping the mugs on the cramped round table along with the miniature-sized wooden keg. “Oh, Roche, shut up. I’m not in the mood to discuss shit like this today.” He punched the cork into the keg and poured himself a hefty serving of the the black stout, not caring that some of the creamy foam spilled out over the edge. “I called you here to reward you. You can complain about the guards and soldiers and whatever later. During court. When I actually have to hear it.”</p>
<p>The prick took a seat but he could tell he wasn’t happy about it. Bloody hell, it was like dealing with a child and he poured out the last of his expensive beer into the adjacent mug. It wasn’t as much as his own, but enough to hopefully get him to relax.</p>
<p>“Drink, you damned whoreson.”</p>
<p>Roche bristled immediately at the insult but he didn’t damn well dare to comment on it. He, in turn, took his mug to drink, savouring the churn at the top as the tension around them festered. It stung with Roche’s forced repression of his anger and his own apathy on the issue, mixing into a stale air that carried the scent of foreign drink and protection spells. An unfriendly atmosphere that had been brewed without intention. Just until it was near aggravating and he could see Roche was itching to say something; Lash out or rant or whatever. Instead of letting him indulge, he turned to a lighter topic - one he actually wanted the answer to.</p>
<p>His Commander could have a fit later. Preferrably after he was flat-out drunk. “How did you catch so much game? Don’t tell me you raided a village butcher.”</p>
<p>Roche took a careful drink, but complied with his request for him to talk about fucking something else. “No,” he said quietly. “We just headed north. Into the Peppermint copse.”</p>
<p>Of course he started with small sentences. Bastard held a grudge like no one else, but it still entertained him. There was a good story between the lines. He gave him an inquisitive look, drinking deep into his cup. “Into the what? Explain. Is that some witch’s hole?”</p>
<p>Roche sighed. “It’s what the locals call the forest near Sangor. Wild mint grows abundant there since there’s a dried-up swamp in the middle. Attracts a lot of animals.”</p>
<p>“You found all that game in a single forest? Must be enchanted.”</p>
<p>“No. And it’s not,” he admitted. “Had to go further north. Told some of the lads to head down to the creek and find something edible. The rest of us spread out.” He took a slight sip of his beer, his frame relaxing as he thought about the mission. “Fenn came across a Scoia’tael band. That’s where the boars came from.”</p>
<p>Somehow, it didn’t surprise him. “And these Scoia’tael-”</p>
<p>“Dead,” Roche said simply. “I saw to that myself.”</p>
<p>Seemed he needed to add that detail to Roche’s reward. Taking care of Squirrels was always something to be praised for. “Did they give you any trouble?”</p>
<p>He scoffed; It made him smile in return.</p>
<p>“What would I do without you, Vernon Roche?”</p>
<p>The statement seemed to humble him and he gave a half-hearted shrug, his gaze moving to the fire. “Find someone else to kill the Squirrels? I’m surely not the only one who can shoot a crossbow and wants them gone.”</p>
<p>“No one I know with your accuracy nor your precision with a dagger,” he pointed out, taking another drink. Roche sighed but he saw the small smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. They lapsed into a better silence, both drinking from their mugs and watching the fire before them. In an hour, he’d have to throw on another log. The last of his duties of the day - feeding fires. Not even a King could neglect such a task.</p>
<p>“I recall you mentioned a gift for me,” Roche said quietly as he took a drink. “If it’s coin, your Majesty, I would rather you keep it.”</p>
<p>“Is that so?” Typical of Roche. The only whoreson in the army that cared about the Temerian treasury and keeping it stocked, even at his own expense. “And if I told you to accept a pouch of coins without opening your mouth, would you?”</p>
<p>His smile faded. Sometimes it was too easy with him. After a moment of letting it hang, he began to chuckle, downing a good portion of the rich, roasted stout in his mug, letting the slightly cool liquid rush down his throat before he set his tankard down. “Honestly, Roche. You’re easier to read than a fucking book for children.” His Commander shot him a sulking glance once more. “What do you want? I have to give you something for restocking the castle. And for dealing with the Scoia’tael.”</p>
<p>“I don’t need anything.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be such a cunt, Roche,” he cut back. “Now name what you want. Before you annoy me enough that I order you to accept a bundle of shit Gwent cards and a damn purse bursting with orens and marks.”</p>
<p>Of course Roche shot him a disturbed, near-horrified look at the mere mention of being ordered to accept such things, but he kept quiet and merely stared at his mug for several minutes. Clearly trying to think of something. He took the opportunity to fold his arms over his lower stomach and relax, leaning back in his chair, stretching his legs out as he watched the fire crackle. The smell of burned juniper and the mixture of herbs wafted in the air, but it was an odd comfort now. Nearly fifteen years or more he had been burning the same things in his bedchamber fires. Out of habit more than necessity.</p>
<p>His mind rolled as the stout took hold and softened his thoughts. How odd that time seemed to flow faster than wanted when things were tough, yet dragged during periods of unrest or boredom. The coming summer he hoped wouldn’t be too lazy. He would have to flog himself if it did, lest he turn out like Demavend, the drunk.</p>
<p>Beside him he caught in his peripheral Roche rubbing at the carvings on his mug with his thumb, still contemplating what to ask for as he stared between his hands. Sharp as freshly hewned nails yet shy when it came to rewards. How typical.</p>
<p>It had been a long winter; Spring was entering Temeria like a bruised lamb on shaking feet. Wobbly, stumbling, and stupid. Maybe he had been locked in the castle for too long - or perhaps the Juniper and beer were getting to his head. Whatever it was, it made him sigh to himself as he found his gaze roaming over his Commander.</p>
<p>He said he would reward him.</p>
<p>Perhaps he should give him what he really wanted.</p>
<p>“Roche,” he found himself saying, pretending to be rather bored about it despite his heartbeat picking up in his chest. “When I say anything, I do mean anything. For your reward.”</p>
<p>He didn’t reply.</p>
<p>“You know,” he continued on. “Anything.”</p>
<p>His fingers were now still on his mug, his thumb pressed over the delicately carved roses. He knew what he was implying and he let his voice lower, his eyes sinking to stare at his broad shoulders and back. How many scars lay under his uniform that had been made for Temeria?</p>
<p>His fingers moved to grab his mug and take one last drink. To give himself the courage to voice it.</p>
<p>“I know you desire me, Vernon.”</p>
<p>The boy’s entire body went rigid at the accusation. Not even a breath came from his chest. Quietly, he stole a glance from over the lip of his tankard. At how Roche’s fingertips were white against the wooden cup, his eyes wide in horror as he stared at the fire, the flames reflecting vividly within them. His mouth had pressed thin in a tight, painful line. Almost like the edge of a sealed envelope, furthering his visage of panic; A spy that had just been revealed to the entire court of the North.</p>
<p>“Please,” he rambled on, his heart now thumping in his chest, his own cheeks growing hot under the distinct crackling firelight. “It’s bloody obvious. I’m not that stupid nor am I malicious. If you wish for something physical from me, just request it and I’ll try to oblige.” He paused, his own mind reminding him this wasn’t a good idea. He shouldn’t be so eager to offer up something that could be taken advantage of and abused. “Unless you want my body. I’m afraid I have to refuse such a thing. Being a King, it doesn’t befit-”</p>
<p>“A kiss.”</p>
<p>He stopped. What?</p>
<p>It was his turn to give Roche a confused and possibly disturbed look, his mind taken aback at such a thing. A kiss? He heard him right, didn’t he? It seemed so innocuous. Yet there had to be more to that. Such a request was too abysmal otherwise. “I’m sorry, what?”</p>
<p>Roche met his eyes - Gods, they were soot black - and he gave a pathetic, guilty shrug. “A kiss,” he said, this time his tone a bit raspy. Like he didn’t know why he requested this himself. “Just… a kiss.”</p>
<p>He did hear him right.</p>
<p>But bloody hell, it still was a shock. A kiss?</p>
<p>“Where?” he blurted out by accident. That made Roche blink, as if he had just poured his beer over his head and shat out a crown, and he had to sit up to compose himself. Ploughing hell, just when he thought he could maneuver any situation with grace, his damn Commander fucked him up like this. He dropped his tankard hard on the table, the sound making him slightly flinch. “I mean, surely-? Roche, that’s…” He was faltering. Him. The fucking King of Temeria. “Why?” </p>
<p>He watched the whoreson beside him begin to flush. Clearly the last part came out more as an accusation than a question, but fuck it all, he was at a loss. Honestly, he didn’t want to think about if Roche asked him for something more provocative or sexual, even though he had allowed it to be broached. But he expected something more. Much larger in scale than a ploughing peck on the lips or wherever he wanted it.</p>
<p>Clearly the dark stout was getting to him. He should have just had a damn gift ready before he had come back to give to Roche so he could have kicked him out to the barracks without having to deal with such shit. Yet it wasn’t that simple and he knew it. </p>
<p>Roche’s loyalty was rare - exceedingly so. And he knew how hot his desire ran for him from his observations alone. Though he never doubted him or suspected he’d ever detract, there was a limit to how much lust a man could dwell on. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t understand the request. A kiss was innocent in a lot of ways. Cute and simple between children. A mark of love between elders. A sign of affection and admiration, used to greet relatives or long-traveled siblings. They could be used for passion but the North preferred it as customary. Coy when needed, flirtatious under the stars, and meaningful under the covers.</p>
<p>The act itself meant a fucking lot. For Roche to request it? It simply confused him on the intentions.</p>
<p>“Roche,” he tried again, frowning as his Commander had gone back to staring at the fire with a blank expression, his head not turning when he addressed him. “You have to be more specific.” </p>
<p>He mumbled something he couldn’t quite catch. </p>
<p>“You know what such a thing means. It’s-”</p>
<p>“Forget it,” he said, his voice shaking and strained. “For-Forget it. I’ll take the coin. I’ll take a purse of orens. Or crowns.”</p>
<p>The silence that cut between them at his words only furthered the tension. What a damned cunt.</p>
<p>“Roche-”</p>
<p>“Really, I will,” he interrupted like a bloody fucking boor. “I had a drink. I fulfilled my job. That will be enough, your Majesty. Forget I asked.”</p>
<p>Now he had pissed him off. Immensely. This fucking whore’s spit. “Roche, if you interrupt me one more time, I will saw off your dick with a rusted bread knife.” Roche immediately went pale but didn’t move. “Listen you fucking whoreson. You think I don’t know your lust for me? I don’t ploughing care. As long as you do your damn duty to me and Temeria, you could spend all night jerking off to a shitty carved knob with my face on it. But when I am talking, you will shut your mouth. Understand?”</p>
<p>He heard him swallow but he saw him nod, his face crimson now with embarrassment. That was the problem with letting certain people into his chambers. They always thought it meant they could treat him as an equal. </p>
<p>Louisa had been notorious for it out of them all.</p>
<p>“I want to know why. A kiss? You could have asked to suck my damned prick off and yet you chose that. Why? And I asked where you wanted it. Surely you’re not that stupid to know people kiss each other in other places than the mouth. You’ve met some of those brainless nits from Toussaint. They kiss everything and do it enthusiastically. Like lovesick cats.” He paused, almost out of breath. It had been a long time since he had gotten this worked up over an exchange. With Vernon Roche of all the fucking people. “Now answer me! Where? And why?”</p>
<p>The order had clearly rang through his head and he spoke in a hushed, hurried tone. As if he had punched him in the throat or slapped his cheek. “Your Majesty, forgive me. I-”</p>
<p>“Shut up and get to the point!”</p>
<p>Roche swallowed twice before continuing, still refusing to look at him. Or maybe it was out of fear now. “I just thought it...” He swallowed again. “I never… I haven’t ever done it. It was all I could think of.” His voice lowered again. “And on the mouth.”</p>
<p>The problem with Vernon is that as much as he was an irritable, vicious pain in the ass, there was a pathetic innocence about him. A reminder that usually came too late that Roche wasn’t born in blood holding swords. His demonic ability to kill had been learned and was not an inherent talent. The whoreson had been brought into the world like the rest of them - screaming and terrified. Only he had been the one who had found him in the gutters - starved, ragged, and with a fierce black eye and ripped open lip. Filled with pain and anger for being reduced to a point even lower than a dog with mange.</p>
<p>The boy had known poverty for all the years of his life until he had set eyes on him. And what woman ever wanted a man without a oren to their name?</p>
<p>It was pitiful to realize Roche probably was seeking something so honest out of innocence. His social manners had been beaten into him - not just by the army - and his brashness and poisoned tongue was a byproduct of his ostracizing. He was a pariah, even within his illustrious ranks. When would Roche have ever experienced the complicated act of touching lips with another human? Hours before his hands had been soaked in blood and dirt. Most would be horrified by such a thing, yet to Roche it was normal. </p>
<p>Such shit did not entice women unless they themselves had nails in their brains. And that was the only type of woman who ever seemed interested in him. Strange, unsettling folk. Lunatics. Psychopaths.</p>
<p>There had been no lessons in courtship or dancing for Roche. How to approach a woman, compliment her without being an ass, then spend endless nights in a spin of emotions and flattery. Even as he thought about it, he had done the ritual of pleading and teasing to Adda for longer than he was willing to admit. And they had been damned closer than one had thought. </p>
<p>Most men and women with honor and societal grooming partook in the chase because that was what made living so fun. Being reckless, sneaking out during the night, bathing in pools naked or petting each other in open halls. It was something to pass the time as well as have fun in the spring of youth. When one’s body wasn’t so old that running up stairs was a feat.</p>
<p>When would Roche ever experience that? He had been vague about his past but it didn’t take a stretch of imagination to know his life was unorthodox. He never had tasted real sugar until he had entered the palace with the bloody ripped banner of Mahakam. Wine was a luxury; His palate had been raised on watered down shit beer. He knew what rats tasted like. Once he heard him comment that men can eat sole leather if they’re really desperate. And his hands were scarred over before he was enlisted. He showed no love for women, no interest in their advances unless it was to further his job. He was considered callous, cold, and sociopathic.</p>
<p>Yet here he was asking for a kiss. On the mouth. Something most people had experienced in their early adulthood or younger. Roche was damn well past forty winters.</p>
<p>His shoulders sagged at the realization. He would consider something so mundane yet intimate a reward, wouldn’t he? Especially coming from him - his King. The object of his feverant lust.</p>
<p>Deep down he knew it stemmed from his misunderstanding of his praise and yearning for signs of affection. It was no secret that Roche’s father had abandoned him and his mother at a young age - sickened by her or him. It had never been clear. He had shown unmoving loyalty to some of the army Lieutenants and Captains, but being nicked to train in Special Forces Reconnaissance really shifted everything. From the first time he ever praised him, it had been clear that Roche’s starvation of warmth had become mixed and confused with sexual desire. Him giving him an embrace out of gratitude meant more to his mind than what the symbol was. Any words of high praise was probably used to get him off in the deep of night as if it was whispered in a bedroom.</p>
<p>He was a deeply fucked up soldier.</p>
<p>But he was his. And no one else could even hold a candle to his results and devotion. For Temeria and for him, exclusively.</p>
<p>“Come here,” he finally sighed as he leaned on the arm of his chair, his finger pointing down between his legs. The fucking prick didn’t move. Bloody cunt. “Roche, get over here,” he snapped. His irritated tone finally reminded Roche of his damn place and he obeyed the command, moving off his chair to awkwardly kneel before his King. Out of reach. As if he was afeared. “Closer.”</p>
<p>He saw him flick his eyes down before slowly shuffling forward, trying to take care not to touch him. Which was impossible as he wasn’t spreading his legs like a whore.</p>
<p>“Either fit between my legs right or I’ll lock you in the dungeons for a week with a angry tomcat.”</p>
<p>He muttered something - An omission of guilt? - before sliding between him, his shoulders fitting between his open thighs, rubbing against the side of his knees. He looked like a wounded hound and it made him sigh, ripping off his bloody chaperon and cap to reveal his salted hair. He didn’t flinch at the action, but he did when he lifted his chin, forcing him to look at him as he dropped the cloth to the floor. Out of his reach.</p>
<p>Gods, he was a rough looking cunt but he just wanted a kiss. It should be easy. Quick. Heartless.</p>
<p>Right?</p>
<p>Of course it was harder than he thought to even begin. The way Roche waited, unmoving, with his damn morose eyes that reminded him of his hunting pack when they saw butchered meat. So ploughing pathetic looking, hoping for the scraps as a treat. Hoping for a morsel of affection from him, the man he desired, with such a paltry action. </p>
<p>What a stupid damn request for a reward. Vernon Roche should have experienced this already and not have to ask him for secondhand praise and comfort. Yet there was no one he could rightly blame. They had both been fucked over in this world and it had propelled them to that moment. Where his Commander wished for the touch of another man.</p>
<p>Gods, it only incensed him more when he let himself go to the other end of the spectrum on the stupidity of it all. Roche was a bloody cunt of a whoreson, but his loyalty was unprecedented and he knew this was possibly the cheapest thing he’d ever grant one of his citizens. He’d have half the damn country if this was Toussaint with how his deep his patriotism and obedience ran. Ploughing hell, he’d probably be King. He was dedicated to Temeria and himself more than even he was. </p>
<p>Yet withholding this - any praise - felt right. Roche made vows to do this, didn’t he? If he did his killings and secret meetings and assassinations in order to be groomed like a prize cockerel, he wouldn’t have even let him step foot in his chambers. But they both knew he did it without any physical gain. He loved his country. Devoted himself to the crown. To him. Surely it wasn’t wrong to give him something in return - the affection he craved. This innocent, naive kiss. What clearly made him practically shake in need whenever he purposely dragged bent in close to him or beckoned him to come to his side. It was just difficult because he hadn’t thought of doing anything of this sort in a long time. Not since Adda had been around.</p>
<p>Why did it have to be him? Wasn’t he punished enough by relationships that molded under his hands? Adda, Louisa. What the hell made him the object of praise for Roche other than he treated him like a human? Was that all it took for him?</p>
<p>Maybe it was. Perhaps it was what he secretly wanted underneath it all. Not to be outcast or abandoned anymore. To have someone see him having worth. And coin couldn’t fix that.</p>
<p>Silently, he let his index finger extend and it pressed into the skin below Roche’s chin, forcing him to tilt up a bit more. He obeyed the motion, his body so damn still it was as if he was carved from marble but there was a clear wetness starting to form around his temple. Sweat from anticipation. It caused his heart to flutter a bit and his mind to ache. How brazenly somber he looked. Scared, yet eager. Like the night that had started his downfall - When Adda let him into his room wearing nothing but a slip of silk.</p>
<p>Gods, he missed his sister. </p>
<p>Yet if she was still alive, Roche would probably be in a gutter somewhere, or a grave. He wasn’t a replacement for her - never - but it was the closet he was going to get to being seduced again. To have his heart beat in his chest with a pounding thud with the enormity of what sins he was willing to act on for a gift. That once again he preferred the notion of casting aside sense and the gods to wade into the acts forbidden by man to tread. Simply because he was asked by this poor boy who never was given a chance until he did it on a whim.</p>
<p>The gods had cursed his sister for their love. Cursed his other lover with indifference after two births. And they cursed Roche by having him misunderstand camaraderie and genuine compliments as love. To be marked of the stench of a whore’s son; filthy and worthless. So who were they to tell him what he could and could not indulge in? Even himself for what Roche could ask for?</p>
<p>He wanted this for all he had done and in the end, he had no right to dismiss it or heavily judge. Roche had never done so about Adda and never spoke her name with disdain or disrespect. It was only fair he did the same and view him equally in that moment.</p>
<p>Tentatively, he slid forward on his chair, positioning himself so he loomed above his Commander, his shadow engulfing his kneeled form that was now tucked between his legs. Roche’s lips parted as he took in a breath, his eyelids dropping a bit as if to tempt him though he probably wasn’t aware. He didn’t give in so quickly, but his own throat went dry from the blatant desire, forcing him to swallow to rehydrate it. For the moment, he truly studied him. This bastard son of a whore. A pup born in a leaking shack that only wanted a soft touch.</p>
<p>The shadow over his jaw and chin were typical now, but closer he could see the ravages his youth had made. Parts where his skin had been burned by the sun, blackened by fists, torn by arrowheads and daggers. The deep one on his chin was obvious, but the other smaller ones weren’t. Like chips in sword blades. Only seen when one really gets close and understands they cannot be healed unless the entire thing was reforged. Roche’s eyes - sunken by lack of sleep - and his harsh gaunt cheeks told the tales of why he was so savage. Starvation and fear had been unfortunate mainstays in his life. The healed scars proved he knew what pain felt like. He was no glass figurine. His body had been badly weathered by poverty and hardship.</p>
<p>Yet the harshness suited him. In fact, he had to wonder if he would be so tempted if Roche looked different. If he had the skin of a noble or the eyes of a priest. One whose struggles came from their own making as opposed to the world trying to crush them. As he focused on Roche’s eyes under the flickering firelight, he counted the vivid sharp black flecks within them. How they looked like a sunken quarry formed in a river, the walls a vivid bauxite or mudded moonstone. Pulling him in.</p>
<p>Roche swallowed and he felt it, his finger still pressed under his chin, and he let it ghost across, tracing his jaw. When he let it settle, his hand slipping to palm his skin and hold his head steady so his thumb brushed his ear, he felt the heat between them. How Roche’s breathing had increased, his damn wood-coloured eyes fluttered, begging for something further, his flesh prickling against his own sweating grip. He took in a breath as well, unaware he had even been holding it, before he leaned in. Close. Enough that it was uncomfortable with how intimate they had become. He could hear how ragged Roche was breathing and his own was beginning to increase, the warmth growing between their nearly touching lips.</p>
<p>He wanted to think of Adda. He wanted to imagine it was her below him again. But Roche’s shaking, his flesh, his racing pulse and mahogany eyes, and damned cracked lips refused to let him focus on anything but him. His Commander was sitting between his legs. Vernon Roche was tense with desire. His hound wanted him to control this - to do as he pleased. Take what he wanted. Show him what he couldn’t experience until now. Kiss him as a reward for his devotion.</p>
<p>For a second, there was clarity. That this was bloody stupid. No human should ever sway a King to indulge in such lunacy, certainly not a bloody peasant. A prick born unwanted in the filth of a brothel. Yet logic was always a backseat with him, wasn’t it? He was practical, but not pragmatic. And despite his pride, he owed Roche this. He deserved it.</p>
<p>They both did.</p>
<p>So he proceeded with what had been asked of himself. He leaned in. </p>
<p>Roche’s lips trembled at the contact.</p>
<p>Strangely, he didn’t taste of anything. Not at first. Louisa, he recalled, usually had honey on her lips or some strange mixture that women liked making to tempt men. Celadine, beeswax, myrtle, rose petals. All scents and tastes that pleased the tongue to the gentler sex.</p>
<p>Roche just tasted like skin. Slightly salty, neutral, and uninteresting. He pulled back first, ignoring the barely audible whimper Roche made and he found himself fixing his own brows, his mind trying to discern the oddity. Once more he pressed, feeling how warm his Commander’s lips were from his previous laboured breathing, but there was still nothing to it. No elderflower and sugar, as Adda had liked. No rose and beeswax. Nothing sweet, nothing flowery, nothing frisky. It was just blank.</p>
<p>Only when he dipped his tongue into his mouth, feeling how Roche immediately relented and leaned in, did he taste anything distinguishing. Tobacco. Malted wheat. The rich stout. Aniseed. Bitter, acidic, sour tones that he knew too well. They came from smoking, drinking, and tonics. Bad habits that were impossible to curb once addiction set in, and he could only guess what Roche was dabbling upon. Yet he wasn’t his father and lecturing his Commander on matters not of state weren’t his place, even if he did indulge in teasing him on the side. In that moment however, he was there as his dominant; This wasn’t a place to drag in dirty laundry. He was indulging in a pleasure lost to him over the years.</p>
<p>No, he was just giving a reward. He was-? Fuck it. He had missed the feeling. He couldn’t even deny it. As Adda had once said, kissing hadn’t been his strong suit. And two of his were worth more than one.</p>
<p>Of course he and his sister had experimented as youthful adults. When he started learning how to slip into her room without a sound and she pinned her garments low enough to taunt him. It was always a raw thrill when they embraced and became stupid, as she’d say. He never could get enough of holding her and tasting that lightness of sweetness that she smeared on her lips.</p>
<p>How strange of a contrast to his current satisfaction. He did not wish to embrace Roche, nor chuckle and hold him in dappled sunlight; Underneath orchard branches or against silken pillows. To re-enact oil paintings from hopeless romantics. His throat was hungering, his chest rising, and he was beginning to feel the holdings of lust. One that wasn’t interested in enchanted courtship or fair weather. Or even ending giving his reward there, when something was beginning.</p>
<p>Funny enough, he subconsciously felt Roche probably thought the same. This was not a motion either of them took lightly and it had been years for him. Roche? It was his first time. But it was clear by the soft groans he made when he pulled back for air that he enjoyed it. That he hadn’t imagined it like a painting from Novigrad. He wanted it bare and raw and real. And, of all fucking people, from him.</p>
<p>Yet there was satisfaction in that. He had taken something from Roche and had him like it. That memory was now theirs. He was going to be his first - no one to compare to. No one could tell him what it should be like. He controlled what it was for him.</p>
<p>Gods, if that didn’t surge a torrent of lust in his filthy mind. He never could stop himself when he realized he was conquering undefiled lands.</p>
<p>In return for his submission and exchange, he kissed him with force, both his hands moving to hold Roche to the angle he wished and his Commander made no move to protest. He was complacent to his tongue, happily letting him take charge, and the tension between them grew as the lust in his stomach heaved. He wanted to own this - him. Stealing his breath away felt like a good way to start. Roche only whimpered in return, helpless to add anything, only to be submissive. He was out of his element. This was all new for him - Virginal territory.</p>
<p>His favourite.</p>
<p>Gods, he was a perverse bastard.</p>
<p>What had started out as explorative had now grown feverish, and he had no scruples about how much he was starting to indulge out of mindless pleasure. That it was past him contemplating how his Blue Stripes leader tasted and the colour of his cheeks and why he should even give in. It was stampeding to something darker and he took advantage, hotly making sure each kiss they made mirrored the delirium rising in his mind. That each slip and slide of their lips made ample, wet contact that he could hear because it had been a damn long time since he felt such a rush.</p>
<p>Roche offered him what he wanted in response - complete submission. He let him pull at his bottom lip, panting when they parted, moaning deeply after his tongue moved over his own, showing him how profound their intimacy could get using just their mouths. Each wet kiss drove him further into whining for him and he accepted the bait, pulling Roche up slightly to close the gap between them. He felt his hands grip his thighs, his body pushing up though he stayed on his knees, and he rewarded him with a groan of his own, making sure he took away the breath in his throat, holding him longer than they both could stand. Until he was growing dizzy from the restriction of air.</p>
<p>The parting made Roche gasp, his breath practically steaming over his neck, and he leaned back to study him again. The sight of his Commander looking as if he was drunk and aroused made his cock throb. He had to have him again, kissing him with the fullness of his mouth, and Roche shivered deeply at the notion, his fingers pulling at the robe that covered his legs. He released him again right at the apex of his moan so he could hear the sound of Roche’s lust and watch him experience it.</p>
<p>The harshness of his face was accentuated with his flushed cheeks. The hard lines that cracked through his rough skin were blotched with red and the glaze over his copper eyes did nothing to help quell the frantic lust gnawing at them both. Roche looked ready to fuck. Swollen parted lips, adoring eyes, fevered skin that was hot and shivering when touched. It made him wet his own tingling mouth in return, his cock pulsing with a need to either be freed or quickly taken care of.</p>
<p>This had started out of innocence. A reward - a gift. Now he was pushing them both past that notion. He was pulsing and growing erect; Purely his Commander’s fault. It had reminded him of how much he enjoyed the darkness a kiss could grant. That it could swell a fever and heighten senses.</p>
<p>“Roche,” he found himself muttering. The only sound he made in return was flushed panting, his damn tongue teasing at the corner of his mouth, licking the side. “Get up.”</p>
<p>He blinked for a moment, as if he didn’t understand, before he obeyed. Slowly he shuffled back, taking care to get up on his shaking legs - either from what they were doing or because they had gone numb, he didn’t bother to ask - but he stood before him as he asked. Again, his lust rumbled deep in his gut and he found himself swallowing hard as he stared at his Commander. Gods damn him, they weren’t even nude, yet he found his body and mind wishing they were. Especially when he caught sight of the belts that tied the proud colours of Temeria to Roche’s frame. That in the shadows, he looked handsome and desirable.</p>
<p>The winding belts on his hips dug in comfortably against the thick padded fabric. Enough that his gambeson wasn’t loose, but snug around his waist and joints so that only a length of straw could slip between the space. It made Roche look intimidating to anyone viewing him as a threat, but at that moment, he saw the opposite effect. That Roche, despite his strength, was lithe. Slim. Possibly easy to throw on a bed and plough.</p>
<p>Maybe there was an advantage to poverty. It had left Roche thinner and smaller than a normal man. Not heightwise but in his build. Just like Adda had been.</p>
<p>He pushed out of his chair, purposely stepping close to Roche as he did so that their chests nearly touched, and he continued giving him the look of a whore wishing to be bed. His exposed throat moved, indicating how he was swallowing, and he felt the same, not breaking their gaze as they stood too far apart.</p>
<p>This was ludicrous. He was too old to be pretending he could even last a quick roll on a bed. Yet Roche always made shit difficult. He was throbbing and for fuck’s sake, he was a King. Wasn’t this supposed to just be a kiss?</p>
<p>Plough it all. They both wanted beyond that.</p>
<p>“My bed,” he said without a hint of shame. The low, weighted breath Roche made only heightened the tangible lust between them. “Now.”</p>
<p>He didn’t need to be told twice, and he stepped around him with an awkward, eager gait. Quick, yet stumbling. He followed with a similar pace, his hands moving to pull at certain strings to slacken his own robes as he stared at his ass. His cock badly needed relief.</p>
<p>The second Roche got close enough to the edge of his bed, still covered in the evening silk duvet, he was on him. He stopped caring and his dick was practically shouting to be used. It wasn’t a feeling he could easily ignore, not at his age or that moment. He caught Roche under his left arm, throwing him to the bed with a force that made him lose his breath and bounce onto his side, before his fingers snatched the end of his belt, tugging hard.</p>
<p>“Off,” he commanded. Roche flushed but nodded, his hands shaking as he began to untangle the knotted loop. No protesting, no snapping back. He obeyed eagerly to get his uniform off. That padded fabric that hid his lithe body.</p>
<p>He began wrenching off his own belt, the gold clips that were hidden under the fifth and sixth shield near maddening to unhook, and he managed to finish first before his frantic Commander. Purposely he let the gold drop and it clanged on the marble floor, making Roche move faster to pull off his own sets, the belts looped too tight around his waist. He worked on the leather shoulders as he watched, the chainmail around his neck sagging, and when the sound of his regal, shield-laced tunic hit the tiles, Roche stopped. His face flushed over and his hungrily eyes bore holes into his body, staring like he was about to come right then. </p>
<p>This was the first time he was seeing him without his royal robes, wasn’t it? He would have to rectify that.</p>
<p>“Keep going,” he ordered, reaching for his collar. Off went his boots and heavy mail he was used to, the lift of weight strange after the long day of it hugging his body, and his glittering crown came last. He took care with it to place it beside his large poster bed, the gold reflecting flickering a distorted image of himself for a second. After all, it was the one thing he made sure to keep pristine. Adda and him had both placed it on their heads when they were young. It symbolized more than a rule of Temeria - and a bond he had to put aside for the night. This wasn’t going to be about him and her.</p>
<p>Roche scrambled to kick off his boots to keep pace, the plated bulk dropping unceremoniously over the edge of his bed, and when he managed to wrench off his uniform and mail, Foltest found himself stopping him from going further. Just before he fully undressed and tossed away his last layer. Despite his hungering, he had another thing in mind and it didn’t involve them being naked, though he wanted it. One layer of clothing between them to merely add to the desperation - simple cotton shirts and trousers. And of course, Roche’s chained medal.</p>
<p>He wondered if he ever took the damn thing off. Did he sleep with it on? He must.</p>
<p>“Roche,” he growled in a light tone, climbing on top of his bed, moving over his Commander. Vernon let out a soft breath, his body easing into the silk, and he let his fingers trail to the bottom of his rough cotton tunic to raise it slightly above his hips but not to pull it off. It was stained with old sweat and blood, uneven stitches holding together parts that had been torn, but he wasn’t in the mood to remind Roche how to dress. By the end of it, he could have a few more holes in the damn thing as their desire heightened, and he could see by how his darling Commander was breathing that he wasn’t going to care.</p>
<p>His eyes flicked down, confirming that the little whoreson was straining against his own leathers, and it made him wickedly smirk. Of course he was. He probably had been hard the moment he commanded him to kneel. Whether or not he should help relieve the poor boy was another matter, but it did make it easier to tease him when he moved to properly looming over him, making sure he didn’t touch a single part of his body. That the space between them both, which wasn’t large, would fit them together well enough to help ease the tension in their loins. The millimeters dividing them was practically miles.</p>
<p>Roche merely stared at him with lustful anticipation, the chain from his medal reflecting the small bits of light from a nearby candle, giving him a look of a steady, seasoned glittering whore. Ready, willing, and painfully obedient.</p>
<p>“Roche,” he ordered, aware of how his own voice dripped with desire. “Spread your legs.”</p>
<p>He did so with near enthusiasm, yet the strain it made was evident as his breath hitched and the bulge became clearer. Begging to be free. His cock looked to be a commendable size he noted, but again, he resisted the urge to comment or praise him. Instead he nodded at him passively. Trying to seem bored. Even though a quick glance between his own legs would show he was fully erect and already leaking through his thin trousers from simple kisses and undressing. The curse of aging. He couldn’t hide what he felt as well as he used to.</p>
<p>“What do you want?” he asked, making sure Roche’s eyes stay level with his own.</p>
<p>The answer was written all over his damn face. “You,” Roche said, his tone husky and dark, and enough to make his own skin ripple with shivers of desire. But it wasn’t good enough.</p>
<p>“Me? How?” he teased. “This is your reward, isn’t it? My gift to you. Do you want me to only kiss you? Or do you want more?” Leading questions, all done on purpose. He wanted him to admit it; Draw him into a small verbal game of cat and mouse. After all, relief always was more satisfying when both parties were near blind with lust.</p>
<p>Roche’s teeth near chattered, and he sucked in a short breath, his voice exhaling it back out. “I want you,” he stuttered. “A-Against me.”</p>
<p>“Against you?” he teased. “In what way?”</p>
<p>For a moment, he saw the ache disappear and Roche’s normal expression come back. One of angered confusion. He was really pushing this but again, it was just a bit too easy with him. He gave too many openings. “A-Against me,” he repeated, struggling for words. “I don’t-”</p>
<p>“Like this?” he cut him off, his hands grabbing his thin hips to wrench him towards himself, crushing their lower bodies together. The gasping groan Roche made thankfully covered his own hiss as he felt him arch in pleasured shock. He didn’t expect one stupid movement to ignite a fire through his veins but gods damn him, the pressure was infectious. </p>
<p>Plough it. He was bloody throbbing and he didn’t care it was for another man. Their verbal teasing could be done another day.</p>
<p>Roche moaned deep against him when he gave up and bruisingly shoved his mouth over his, pinning him to his bed as his hands settled around his throat, holding his head still. The second his hips rolled against Roche’s, the whoreson bucked, and he damn well felt how bloody needy he was; How he spread his legs wider to accommodate him in conjunction to his erratic rubbing. Like a male mutt finding out a leg was the best place to hump. He wasn’t much better off than him, his own body desperate for the friction and he turned off his mind as he gave in to his instincts.</p>
<p>Animalistic rutting. Something he had been used to in his youth when Adda had been heavily pregnant. The sign of a desperate, sad man. However this was different. This was just the start of something between them.</p>
<p>Roche’s whining didn’t help him stay rational as he jerked their bodies together. It made him roll his tongue over the cheeky whoreson’s, giving him a damned sloppy kiss for his eagerness, and in turn Roche grabbed at his arms, holding them tight as he squirmed under him, his wet gasps a welcome sound. It was like he was in his twenties again. That embarrassing time when his mind was controlled by how badly his dick needed to get off instead of more pressing matters.</p>
<p>Like the lucidity that he was jerking his hips off against his damn Commander and shoving his tongue down his throat.</p>
<p>Flesh was flesh, though. And as long as he and Roche were throbbing, this was bloody fine.</p>
<p>“Your Majesty,” Roche sputtered out between breathless moments. He didn’t let him get much of a word out. He preferred the reedy moans that filled his head with smug pleasure. “F-Fuck-! Oh, fuck!”</p>
<p>He swallowed the ramblings, sucking the breath out of him; Out of himself. The deprivation of oxygen between them only spurred Roche on and he let the bastard rock his hips hard against his own, teasing them both to a painful height of arousal. He, insanely, was thriving on this. The domination of it, the control, the friction and heat. How his cock was pulsing in need and Roche wasn’t resisting a thing. Even when he kissed him for so long that he began clawing at his arms, his Commander only gasped for breath after, his eyes clouding over further with ecstasy, rolling back slightly in bliss. Complacent. Willing.</p>
<p>Gods, it drove him mad.</p>
<p>Adda he had loved. Louisa he had cared for. Roche? He wanted plain and simple. On a sick, possessive level. Gods he wanted his damn flesh and mouth and the greed spurred him on to keep up his domination. It caused him to push up onto his forearms and glare at him, how utterly in love Roche was with all this, how much he was displaying his honest desire for him. Gods help him if he didn’t nearly come all over his trousers then and there and he licked his hot lips. This was the longest he had been hard in a while and the hunger flooded his thoughts. </p>
<p>“Roche,” he fought with his name, struggling not to say it in a deep groaning tone. “Vernon.” He reached between them, finally tired of being confined. Roche blinked, stupid, before noticing and panted louder. His fingers left his forearms and he reached to help with the binding, crossed laces. To touch him the moment his cock fell free and moan in appreciation at the sight. “Get me off.”</p>
<p>“Your Majesty,” he huffed, the title taking on two meanings, and his hands shook in eager excitement as he finally was allowed access to his cock. To touch what he had probably been dreaming about for years. His palm was hot with sweat but the grip he made around him was damned ploughing fine. Not too rough but soft enough that it wasn’t like ploughing a satin pillow. Just inbetween - soft and rough. What his cock bloody needed. “Gods, your Majesty-”</p>
<p>“Now, Vernon!” he snapped. Before he spilled his entire balls on his hand. Roche nodded unsteadily, biting his bottom lip for a second before he started to gently pull. Slow at first and hesitant until he let him hear the moan he had been holding in. One he couldn’t suppress when Roche’s fingers slid over his slit. It sent confidence through his hand, the jerking increasing until he had him with a steady grip, one that felt as good as the friction of his hips, and he pressed into it. He couldn’t deny him a reward in return and his right hand found the knotted lace that held his leathers to his inked stomach. He wanted him to feel it as well.</p>
<p>It was too tight to undo fully, but he got enough of it undone that he could at least pull the shaft of him free. Immediately, he felt how sticky his cock was. Slick with precome already, the little whore.</p>
<p>“Roche,” he said, looking to him, ready to make a comment, but the insult died on his tongue. The way he gazed up at him, how drunk he was on the depravity of them rubbing each other off. It somehow made an insult seem cruel. This was his Commander; His vicious monstrous torturer. Enjoying the reward he had offered him like he had been given a room full of coin to swim in. Tugging on his cock with equal elation and fevered passion and wanting to truly give him pleasure in return.</p>
<p>He released his strained cock to lean back over him, drinking it in, and Roche didn’t stop his hands on his own aching prick. Though he began panting at him, eyes hazed with lust, his tongue extending past his bottom lip to tempt him, begging for another intimate, dizzying kiss. For that, he indulged. For the both of them. Because he was ready to just defy all logic and fuck the boy. Fuck him until he was screaming and all of Vizima heard their frantic, sick lust. That he had chosen the path of ploughing a whore’s unwanted son because he would be insane not to.</p>
<p>Roche sucked at his bottom lip when he released him from his passion-crazed kiss and he let the his Commander do as he pleased. Suckling on his skin, pulling for a second, before his tongue lapped desperately at his mouth. Silently trying to beg him for another round of their tongues touching. Honestly, he was more absorbed into the feeling of his tingling lip. It didn’t feel half bad. But he couldn’t deny him and he gave in, sinking into Roche’s mouth. How the taste of tobacco was now making him groan.</p>
<p>“Your Majesty,” Roche kept muttering, his hand stroking his cock in a hard, steady motion as his legs curled around his thighs trying to bring him closer. Trying to bring him to the edge faster than he wanted. He fisted the back of his hair with a single hand at the notion, kissing him at a harsh angle just so he could plunge his tongue deeper into his throat and distract him. It caused Vernon’s hand to grow sloppy on his prick, but his rhythm increased. Like sweet wine being sipped too fast. Both going dizzy from indulging in the sin too much.</p>
<p>It made his head spin, his own groans straining out from his throat and when he released Roche for a second time, he felt the tension between them. They needed to properly get off. Before he went truly insane.</p>
<p>He briefly spit into his palm before his fingers found their way down, between their cotton shirts that were beginning to stick to slickened skin to Roche’s dribbling cock. How it fit well in his hand and made the bastard gulp down a whimper of need as he coated him with cooling saliva. The wetness of his fingers stroking his skin made a deliciously perverse sound. </p>
<p>“Watch,” he nearly panted, his hand slipping to the back of Roche’s head so he could force him to look between them as he began to mirror his strokes. His hand awkward and inexperienced on his Commander’s cock, but it was enough to get him shivering in delayed delight as if he was a master. Really, all he had to do was imagine it was his own prick in his hand. That made it a little easier, even though Roche felt so vastly different. Leaner, if it was possible. But the result was just the same as if he was getting himself off. </p>
<p>“Roche.” He mouthed his name once more, knowing what it did to him, watching his eyelids flutter at the sound of his name. “Vernon.”</p>
<p>He made a wet swallow, but his own hand kept sloppily tugging on his cock. Firm, quick, and growing wet from precome he was beginning to badly leak. Not that anyone could blame him. He was old, not infertile or celibate, and Roche’s fingers were stirring rumblings in him. How he looked good enough to flip over and fuck senseless, his hand moving at a good, solid pace, his breathing itching with lust. It made him purposely grind his hips down, pushing his prick further into Roche’s hand while he squeezed him. His reward was a hot, breathless moan from the boy, one that made him shudder in response.</p>
<p>Only then did it became obvious how awkward it was going to be. Both hands trying to move at the same time in a confined space, with both of them struggling not to just give up and thrust until they came; Something he was seriously considering. No, it wouldn’t do. He needed more surface - more friction between their bodies. His fingers slipped down to grab Roche’s hand, holding it still for a second before he slid his grip off. Just so he could angle himself and pull their pricks together, holding them shaft to shaft.</p>
<p>He was slightly bigger than him, but it could have been the angle. The heat between them, however, made his own face flush as he felt how aroused Roche was. His breath hitched at every slide of his fingers against himself, his cock practically twitching, dripping with need as his sack pressed against his. It wasn’t a good fit, but it gave him enough leverage to feel his balls tighten in relief at the pressure being given. Gods, he needed to come.</p>
<p>Roche probably felt the same.</p>
<p>When he snatched a glance at him, Roche’s ruddy eyes were dark and flooded with the haze of ecstasy. The copper that flooded his iris became absorbed by the dark pit of his pupil, and he shamelessly panted at him, giving him the most enticing come hither look he had ever seen. It was clear Roche could blow at any moment and the control he had over that surged him with his own thick, choking desire. He was the dominant one. He along had been given the power to choose what to do, and it blackened his thoughts.</p>
<p>He wasn’t possessive - not intentionally - but fuck it all, he finally understood why men fell victim to such power. It was a horrible aphrodisiac.</p>
<p>“Get us off,” he darkly hissed, holding their cocks together tight so Roche got the hint. He nodded, reaching to take the reins, and his warm, damp fingers took them both in hand, keeping their shafts glued to one another. For a moment, he just held them still, as if savouring the feeling, before his wrist began moving. Slowly, then fast. The pace quickened to a dangerous rate and he didn’t apologize to the thrust he made, their hips pressing together briefly, letting all parts of their exposed skin touch.</p>
<p>That was when Roche dipped his head down and his mouth snatched the collar of his shirt, his medal sliding off his chest to bundle on the bed, leaving the chain to wrap around his throat. His brows fixed, his eyes flooding with raw pleasure and deep, hungering need, and he focused intensely on the task he had been ordered to do, sucking on his collar as he did. It made him lick his own lips, his shirt clinging to his frame uncomfortably, but he didn’t remove it. He didn’t want to. Instead, he leaned into his Commander, pressing his pelvis against his own bony one, watching him with a lurid gaze as Roche feverishly picked up his pace, his knuckles scraping against his lower stomach.</p>
<p>It was fascinating to watch. How the sweat began sliding down Roche’s temples, how eagerly he sucked on the fabric of his shirt as if it was a cock. His dark, rumative eyes glazing over, dilating at moments, shrinking back after seconds. He didn’t look like himself. The haughty, aloof, cunt of a man that maliciously sent enemies to their deaths, usually while they were in fits of pain. This Roche was vulnerable and aroused. Eager and willing to be submissive, obeying without question in a different way than usual. He wanted to be commanded and controlled. He craved it. And his face didn’t deny the ecstasy he was chasing, his eyes clear with how much they were dancing in delight at feeling pleasure. It made him thirst for his mouth once again so he could taste the arousal he felt.</p>
<p>This was a man he wanted to bed. Not the cold, frozen-hearted bastard that reflected the failures of Vizima. The poverty, starved, violent underbelly that was washed over by a veneer of banners and paved streets. Roche, in that moment, was utterly human and defenseless. Exposed by lust, driven in those seconds for relief of a desire he understood.</p>
<p>Forcefully, he ripped his shirt from his mouth, causing Roche to gasp in pain, and he thrust his mouth over his, kissing him hard. He didn’t want reminders of where they were or his title. That he, the King, had rescued a beaten pup from death and made him into a monster. No, he was one his capitol - his city - bred. He had wallow painfully as a youth in furious, oppressive circumstances because everyone turned a blind eye to peasants. This wasn’t about a King trying to make it up to his populous. Or even a Lord controlling his soldier.</p>
<p>He wanted him as the quivering, whimpering mess he had reduced him to because both of them desired each other. That Roche was doing this willingly out of adoration for the chase they had invented. Master over virgin; The elder teaching the younger the pleasures of sex. He desired that when he sunk his tongue into his mouth, he could taste his yearning. Roche wanted him as badly as he desired his flesh and they were equals in lust.</p>
<p>A vibrating sound came from Roche’s throat when he moaned shamelessly against him, indicating his own desire. Needy, shaking, and begging. A welcome choir midst their fever.</p>
<p>He bucked against the skilled fingers that were stroking them to orgasm, his skin rubbing against the young, untainted flesh of his Commander. Roche let his legs fall beside him, opened wide, encouraging, and he took the invitation. Bucking against him like a prized stallion. Roche’s hand left them, moving back to gripping his arms, and he held him down as he ground his hips against the throbbing heat that had developed. Thrusting his prick so it slid and slipped over Roche’s, his mouth swallowing the laboured, hot moans he made.</p>
<p>Everything burned; He needed relief. Minutes more or less, just to hit that peak. Where his loins would stop burning and he could finally let loose what he had held himself back on for weeks. He desired this contact - this moment with Roche - and when he released him to breathe, his eyes searching his, he only saw the same thoughts reflected back.</p>
<p>“Your Majesty,” Roche begged, nearly sobbing. He purposely moved and took away his breath, swallowing it, holding it, his entire body pulsing, shaking, screaming, and howling in lust. Then he let go and Roche cried out deeply, his back arching in ecstasy. The feeling he wanted to capture himself.</p>
<p>His mind lifted, his body growing light, and he was absorbed in the sound of their wild, pathetic rubbing. Noises of wet skin slapping and sliding against each other, whimpers from Roche’s throat, the bed creaking as he let his hips thrust without control. He chased the fleeting, teasing feeling within him, like a hunting hound after a stag, and the faster he rocked and thrust, the closer he got to the euphoria. The high that awaited him at the top of the hill.</p>
<p>He pinned his Commander down, nearly pressing his forehead to his as he fucked into the heat between them. How he almost could taste the thrill of his orgasm.</p>
<p>Roche’s tongue hit his throat, licking his neck, his whimpers shifting into feverish moans as he chased his own pleasure, and he felt a rush down his spine. Hot, rapid, and blinding. Spurred on by Roche sucking on his neck, begging for him in incomprehensible words.</p>
<p>Then it was over. Roche’s blunt nails dragged down his arm, his hips bucking wildly, and it overtook the last bit of control he had unwittingly held on to. He burst his seed between them, feeling Roche do the same, and he shoved him down to kiss him, groaning deeply into his mouth when he captured it, gasping for breath between the flurry of exchanges he had to give as he ran with the sensation flooding over him. One that left his entire body shaking with sweat and dizzy as if he had sprinted around the castle. Roche merely melted into the silk duvet, letting him do as he wanted, until he was loudly swallowing for breath, his lips and corners of his mouth wet with saliva as he did.</p>
<p>He looked as if he had fucked him - orally and, well, the other way. And it made him jerk the last bit of come he had left in his balls between their sticky stomachs, though most of it had pooled on Roche. White, hot, and thick. Like fresh cream from a farm.</p>
<p>His Commander groaned deeply in pleasure before he arched for a second, his cock still dribbling as his hips sought another wave of friction, achieving it against his hip. Then he collapsed, his eyes rolling back as he panted deeply, his chest rising and sinking like the waves of the sea. He didn’t touch him, moving instead to flop down on the bed to the right of his body, and he took in his own breath, feeling the aftermath that skittered in his veins.</p>
<p>Gods, he had fucking missed that feeling. The chase and the climax of an orgasm. He hadn’t even penetrated Roche yet it felt like he had just come off of a good fuck. One that left his joints aching in dull relief and his flushed face thankful for the cool air. Between his thighs he felt the unpleasantness of sweat - especially under his balls - and he rubbed his face, not bothering with it yet.</p>
<p>Maybe they needed a bath. One in which he could get Roche dripping with suds so he could-? No. He needed to stop. Coming once was enough for his old bones and another would probably drain him of all energy for the next day. Then what? Tell his council he fucked his Special Forces Commander until both of them needed to go to the hospital? As amusing as that was, he imagined the demands for flogging would stop it from being entertaining after ten minutes.</p>
<p>Again, he rubbed his face, turning slightly so he could ask Roche his opinion on a bath when he found him moving to face away. He could hear his strained breaths, his back rising and falling as a shiver ran down his body, and he curled over for a second. The orgasm he had experienced had probably been more intense than he thought and Foltest watched silently, letting him bring himself back down to earth on his own.</p>
<p>Was this the first time he had come with someone else? A question for another time, but it was clear he wasn’t used to such intensity. He hoped it hadn’t rendered him useless for a day.</p>
<p>After a deep breath, Roche made no further noises, save for the shifting of the duvet under his body as he began sliding toward the edge. He saw a flash of blue ink on his spine - A sword or the stem of a flower, he couldn’t rightly tell - before his Commander was pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Far enough away that he couldn’t touch him with a hand. He shook his head like a dog, his fingers moving to scratch over his salted hair, before he attempted to get up. </p>
<p>It took him two tries before he stood, his frame slumping and his shoulder sagging. Exhausted. Their combined orgasm had no doubt rattled the boy.</p>
<p>Honestly, he should have let him be, but there was always a part of him that liked teasing Vernon. Even when he was beginning to feel the tugging of shame and embarrassment at what they had done. “You’re going to just rut and run?”</p>
<p>Roche paused, but not for long, his frame bending to grab a stray boot before he pulled his trousers up from where they had slid halfway down his backside. “I must get back to the barracks.” His voice was rasped. “I’ve been here too long. Questions will be asked.”</p>
<p>“By who?”</p>
<p>“Everyone,” he said quietly. He wasn’t wrong yet it seemed a bit strange. What did his Special Forces care about how long Roche spent in his chamber?</p>
<p>“Have they ever asked what you were doing up here before?”</p>
<p>Roche hesitated, not looking back, but he could see his wrists still before they continued lacing up the front of his leathers in snapping knots. Hastily, he stepped into a boot, stomping it to get it on before he grabbed the other. “No,” he finally replied.</p>
<p>“So why would they ask now?” he inquired, watching his Commander as something began to nag in the back of his head. Not just screams about what the fuck he had actually done - had he really burst his seed on another man’s stomach? - but to why Roche was suddenly dressing as if there was a war on. “Roche?”</p>
<p>He didn’t reply. His other boot was shoved on in the same stomping fashion and he began roughly pulling his chainmail back over himself, making tight knots in the laces instead of precise bows. His mood began to slightly sour as he watched. He was trying to get the hell out of there, wasn’t he? Why? Because he had let another man come on his body? Or was it because it was him specifically?</p>
<p>“Roche,” he pressed. “Do you regret what we did?”</p>
<p>He heard him inhale sharply. It made his own gut plummet.</p>
<p>Of course he should. Ploughing hell, he should be disgusted by it as well. What was he thinking? Rubbing himself off and kissing Roche as if he was his lover - his sister. Only Adda had enchanted him in such a way and he was desecrating her memory by lusting for Roche, wasn’t he? Even Louisa. What would they say if they knew what he had done?</p>
<p>Yet down in his belly, where the stout still sat, he knew the truth. He damn well had loved it. Every second he got to enjoy the power he had over Roche had made his cock pulse with lust. He made him come just as hard as his body had and it felt ploughing fantastic. It had been intoxicating and invigorating. But Roche didn’t seem to feel the same. He dressed twice as fast, showing him only his back, and it gave him mixed feelings.</p>
<p>Was what they did right? Fair? Did he misinterpret everything?</p>
<p>“Roche-”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he cut in, hurriedly. Once again interrupting him, the fucking King of Temeria. “Sorry, your Majesty.” He grabbed his padded horizon blue uniform and began to abruptly tie it to his frame. Badly, he noted. Had what they done really been that caustic and shameful? He only caught glimpses of his face as he looped his belt over his hips. Once. Twice. His face was stained red from shame, his eyes focusing everywhere but where he lay, as if he had slapped him. “It won’t happen again.”</p>
<p>There was an omission of guilt in his sentence he didn’t like. “Roche,” he started.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he cut him off. Again. “It really won’t happen again.”</p>
<p>That made him lean up on his forearms, frowning deeply. The way he said it - It won’t happen again. Why was he acting like this? Yes, he was fighting with his own discomfort over what they had done. Again, Adda had been his love. Even Louisa to an extent. Roche was a common peasant he had taken pity on and just reduced to coming all over his stomach. He didn’t even clean himself up, did he? Why was he making this like this was beyond forgiveness? That they had scalded each other instead of pleasured?</p>
<p>“Roche,” he growled, staring at his back. He wasn’t fucking overreacting like this and he was the one who should be. </p>
<p>The whoreson merely bowed quickly toward him, refusing to show his face, before he was at the door, scooping up his chaperon from the floor as he practically sprinted to it. Now he was pissed. “Roche!” he snapped, sitting up on his bed. “Vernon!”</p>
<p>His angry tone was to make him stop, and the bastard knew it.</p>
<p>Only he disobeyed. </p>
<p>For a second, there was hesitation as his hand gripped the latch, and he could see him inhale. He knew he was being defiant and it was clear how it fought with him. Every bit of mortality and honor that had been beaten into his skull was chiding him on his blatant disrespect. Yet it didn’t stop him. He only exhaled his breath before he unlatched the door, sliding away the heavy lock, and then he was gone. Out. Back to the shadows of the hall which he had arrived. The heavy oak shut tight where he had been, the noise a hollow thud as it fell back into place, and he was left sitting on his bed, staring in anger at where his Commander had been.</p>
<p>The whoreson. The fucking bold impertinence of such a bastard. This was beyond a mere slap on the wrist. He just gave him grounds to flog him out in the central square. Tie him to the post and let everyone see what happened when they were so callous as to treat him and his word as less than important. The little shit. The ploughing cunt!</p>
<p>And yet, his anger didn’t fester. It faded as soon as it had filled his body and choked his throat.</p>
<p>What, he would drag Roche out into the square and announce to Vizima that he had fled after he had fucked his stomach? After they had frotted and rubbed together like heat-dizzy dogs? How dare Roche do such a thing? There’d be a riot. People were already angry he had copulated with Adda - a legitimate and honorable union - but if they knew he was fucking his soldiers, there’d be more than cursing his seed and innocent children.</p>
<p>Gods, if Henselt, Meve, or even Demavend found out, he’d be scorned in the North. Nothing he could ever do would be taken as legitimate. Because he fucked his men. His lust was out of control.</p>
<p>But he doubted that was why Roche fled. </p>
<p>No, he knew the reason. How far he had pushed him, how vulnerable and exposed he had become. Slowly, he flopped back onto his bed, closing his eyes to think about it. The raw sexual lust that had been splashed all over Roche’s face lingered. His panting, the moaning, his unaltered and honest display of how much he desired him. What he had asked for was a kiss and he had taken it to the bed. Roche wasn’t a seasoned whore; He was a whoreson who had dwelled on his feelings for too long. Giving it all to him at once? Either Roche was going to flee back to the barracks and mentally flagellate himself or he was going to find a corner to shamefully jerk himself off. Either situation wasn’t appealing yet he could hardly stop him. Shame was a unpleasant thing to behold and Vernon Roche had a damn lot of it.</p>
<p>The worst was his own guilt that began sinking into his bones. That Roche, in his virginal innocence, had plunged himself deep into rushing waters against a starving beast because the animal was too lustful to stop. He never was good at controlling his loins. Make no mistake, both were to blame, but he knew he had nearly drowned him in dark waters because his own desire outweighed all sense.</p>
<p>Just as it had with Adda. The same with Louisa when she had bore Anais. No one could command a King and he wanted a male heir. He wanted more of Adda - more of Louisa’s body. And he wanted succession. One who couldn’t be taken away or married off when he got too elderly to command his people. His sister had been the love of his life, Louisa a beauty with strong bloodlines. But Roche? </p>
<p>He used him. Like a cloth. He had taken full authority over his vestal body and fucked his prick against it. He had made him into a whore before he even understood what a kiss was.</p>
<p>A long, remorseful sigh exhaled from his lungs and he opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. To the dark wooden beams that hung high ahead and the soft silver lilies that had been hand-painted to match. He sent his hound out on a mission that morning and dominated him to the point of him being wracked by shame at night. Yet what they had done would have to remain between them. Silent and secret. He doubted Roche would ever speak of it again and he wasn’t in the mood either. But the guilt would linger, wouldn’t it?</p>
<p>Besides, what did that leave him with? If he wanted to pursue? Nothing but discomfort and further shame. And Roche had experienced enough of that for a night.</p>
<p>He turned to look toward his crown, still laying untouched and polished by the bedside. Free of stains and corruption. The physical embodiment of what he should be.</p>
<p>Just like Adda had been before his fingers had touched her pearl skin. Leave it to his cock to plough things up, as usual.</p>
<p>Fuck it all. He’d send Roche a bag of coin in the morning. Leave it; Refuse to think on it. He was a King, not a bard. By the time they both got over it, spring would be in full bloom. He had his children to visit, new laws to enact, granaries and larders and favors to restock. Important shit that had to be focused on, not his damn cock nor where he had spilled his seed.</p>
<p>Maybe by then, Roche would face him again with hard, emotionless eyes. Unwavering loyalty. Bloodied hands from enemies he never wished to see. And he’d offer him praise in return. A drink.</p>
<p>And an apology. Something he had never gifted anyone before.</p>
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